


Sweet Repentance

by gundamoocow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Feelings, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 03:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19803463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gundamoocow/pseuds/gundamoocow
Summary: Aziraphale feels guilty for performing a temptation. Crowley helps him deal with it.





	Sweet Repentance

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to make it kinky, but it ended up soft.

“You’ve been sulking for days. What on Earth is wrong?”

Aziraphale had barely touched his wine. He simply stared at the glass as he swirled the liquid round and round. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled.

Crowley sighed. Dear Aziraphale wore his heart on his sleeve, but getting him to talk was another matter entirely.

“It’s not nothing,” Crowley said. “Go on and tell me. I promise I’ll do a good deed in return.”

Aziraphale’s gaze shot up, his expression pained. “Does it not bother you, Crowley?”

“What?”

“Going against the rules like that! Putting a little bit of light into the world.”

Rules were made to be broken just as things that were forbidden were by no means impossible. Anyhow, being one of the Fallen did not dictate how Crowley should live his life. He had a quota to fulfill, and what he did outside of his working hours was his business alone.

“Not really,” he replied after a pause.

“But how can you reconcile it? I-- I _try_ to do the right thing. That man you had me tempt. He had a fiance and a good future. That’s all ruined now.”

“It was going to be an arranged marriage. He’d never even met his wife-to-be! Besides, deep down, he loved his valet,” Crowley offered. “All you did was help him realise it.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, his eyes _almost_ watering. Did he finally get the message, after all these years?

“They will live their lives as outcasts.”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe so. Though one could argue that living true to oneself is always more satisfying than struggling to meet the expectations of others.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth as if to speak. No sound came, but in his eyes, there was an understanding.

“I’m not made for this, Crowley,” Aziraphale finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t just pretend that it’s okay, even if the higher-ups don’t take notice.”

“You feel guilty,” Crowley spat, unsure again if Aziraphale was talking about the young lord he tempted or about _them_.

“I suppose I do,” Aziraphale said. “Though in my heart, it doesn’t feel wrong.”

Oh, Aziraphale! Why was he like this? It was Heaven’s fault for filling his mind with so much conflict. Crowley would burn it to the ground, if he could.

“Well, there you have it,” Aziraphale said, his mood suddenly more bright. “I’ve told you what’s on my mind. You owe me a good deed.”

“Do I?” Crowley did have to go and phrase it like a demonic pact, didn’t he? And like all evil demons, how he filled his end of the bargain did not have to align with the other party’s expectations.

A personal confession necessitated a personal good deed, not some offhand miracle on a random stranger.

“How about this,” Crowley suggested. “I help assuage your guilt.”

Aziraphale looked taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve confessed your sins, and I shall take responsibility that you leave this evening with a clear conscience.” Crowley grinned widely.

“How do you propose to do that?”

“I take you over my knee until you get it out of your system.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink.

“Isn’t that something your people are into? ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child,’ and all that?”

“It’s not meant to--”

Aziraphale stopped mid-sentence as Crowley drained his glass of wine, then stood suddenly and walked over to the sofa and sat down.

“Come now,” he said, patting his lap. “Be a good angel for me.”

He wanted it. Crowley could _tell_ he wanted it, that his suggestion had precisely struck a chord in Aziraphale’s tangle of inadmissible desires.

Sheepishly and without further argument, Aziraphale got to his feet. He walked in shuffling steps to Crowley, nervously fiddling with his sleeve as he came.

“Just here?” he asked, glancing down at Crowley’s lap.

“Yes,” Crowley replied, patting his lap again. “Right here.”

Aziraphale swallowed, then awkwardly climbed over Crowley’s lap. A soft gasp escaped Crowley when Aziraphale finally settled his weight down on him. He was heavy, but warm and soft. They touched so rarely, despite spending all this time together. Now, Aziraphale was laid out before him like a platter of fine delicacies.

“Is this okay?” Aziraphale asked, wiggling his bottom as he got himself comfortable.

Crowley had to close his eyes and take a breath to calm himself before speaking again. “Yes, angel. It’s perfect.”

He placed a hand on Aziraphale’s back and rubbed in small, gentle circles. Aziraphale was nervous, and certainly helping him relax was a good thing. It worked; the tension in Aziraphale’s muscles loosened, and more of his weight sunk onto Crowley’s lap.

Aziraphale’s coat tails were draped over his rear. Crowley lifted one and then the other, peeling them back slowly as if unwrapping a gift. Aziraphale was certainly a gift to be unwrapped. His flawlessly tailored trousers enveloped his buttocks perfectly, particularly as they pulled into a crevice here and there. He probably had no idea of how enticing the look was. Or perhaps he did, given his attention to detail, but Crowley was sure that he never intended for his rear to be viewed from the angle that Crowley was viewing it from now.

With great tenderness, Crowley placed a hand on Aziraphale’s buttocks, eliciting an audible gasp. He rubbed there, too, but he’d be lying if he claimed it was for Aziraphale’s benefit. Feeling the round globes of Aziraphale’s slightly plump cheeks, tracing the place where his thighs met his buttocks -- those things were entirely for Crowley’s enjoyment.

Below him, Aziraphale began to breathe heavily, even though they had barely begun. Well, he’d better start before Aziraphale got too carried away. Crowley lifted his hand and brought down square over Aziraphale’s left buttock, the sound of the smack reverberating through the room.

“Oh!” Aziraphale cried.

It was a delightful cry, and Crowley lifted his hand again and smacked Aziraphale’s other buttock.

Aziraphale squeaked and gasped and squirmed. After just two spanks, Aziraphale was falling apart on him and Crowley felt mindless with desire for _more_. He braced the hand on Aziraphale’s back, pressing down to hold him still, and rained a volley of smacks on his rear. Oh, the sounds he made! _Oohs_ and _ahs_ and high-pitched whines, while deliciously tensing and squirming in Crowley’s lap. He was insatiable. Crowley was insatiable, too, thirsty like a man wandering the desert for days and months and years, even centuries.

Crowley continued until he was hot all over from the exertion and then stopped suddenly, his hand coming to rest at the top of Aziraphale’s thighs. Aziraphale chest heaved with laboured breaths. Crowley was breathing heavily, too. Following an urge that he couldn’t suppress, Crowley flipped Aziraphale onto his back and clambered on top of him. He was half off the sofa, but close enough to press their bodies together and meet Aziraphale face-to-face.

“My angel,” he said, gazing into Aziraphale’s eyes. They were beautiful and blue, as always, and full of vulnerability. He stroked Aziraphale’s flushed cheek, stopping at his dainty lips. Before he let himself think too hard about the consequences, Crowley planted a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his voice full of affection and a hint of sorrow.

He didn’t push Crowley away as Crowley feared he would, but embraced him.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear.

“Do you feel better?” Crowley asked, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

Aziraphale moved to sit up, so Crowley accommodated him, lifting his weight off and shifting to sit. Next to him, Aziraphale’s knee and thigh brushed against Crowley’s own -- Aziraphale’s initiative, not Crowley’s.

“I feel better, yes,” Aziraphale said, once he seemed to get his bearings.

Crowley wanted to say and do so much. Embrace Aziraphale again. Take him to bed, just to hold. Aziraphale would have to come to him for that; these were acts that Crowley was unwilling to compel him to do, so instead he said, “I can do this again, you know, if the situation calls for it.”

“I suppose I can accept that,” Aziraphale said in his usual cheerful way.

Little by little, he would open Aziraphale’s heart to him. The journey ahead would be slow, but enjoyable, and Crowley was a patient demon.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on [tumblr](https://agent-nemesis.tumblr.com/) and/or [twitter](https://twitter.com/asstromechdroid)!


End file.
